


Before It Slips Away

by gelos (bia_mpinto)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Post S4, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, but all the s4 events arent mentioned, first real date anyway, john feels things, john is very introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 02:41:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13672578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bia_mpinto/pseuds/gelos
Summary: It was stupid to think they let so much time pass by them since there was literally nothing stopping them from being together. They just needed a little nudge, and neither of them had been willing of giving that same nudge, until now. John was ready.





	Before It Slips Away

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the song Say Something Loving by The XX.
> 
> I was also inspired by the songs Lips and Angels by the same band. Somehow, a lot of their songs remind me of johnlock :)
> 
> Thank you [ justinmymindpalace](http://archiveofourown.org/users/justinmymindpalace) for betaing!
> 
> Rosie is listed as a character but she is just mentioned in the story, she doesn't appear in it. Nevertheless, I thought better to list her, cause I know many people don't really like reading parentlock fics.
> 
> Hmu on tumblr @gelos!

The eleventh of February arrived with a cold dawn and slightly milder morning, strong winds and a few stray clouds up above. Today was Sherlock's day to pick Rosie up from day-care, so John went up straight home from work. 

Although he had his black coat on and Sherlock's scarf, he arrived home shivering. He often took the scarf in the morning (like he had been doing occasionally for the past few months) when Sherlock was too busy with something else to notice. Taking Sherlock's scarf served for two purposes. One, it was freezing cold outside and John didn't have one that wasn’t itchy, and two, he liked to wear something of Sherlock's, especially something around his neck and close to his face, where he could smell the Detective's expensive and posh perfume throughout the day. 

He used to fear that Sherlock would notice the occasional disappearances of his scarf, but now he no longer cared. Sherlock never mentioned it anyway, did he? Why would he, when he knew it would bring up certain conversations?

John wished he would sometimes, since he wanted to start those same conversations. He’d been back to Baker Street for a little less than a year, and after everything he’d been through, he realised Sherlock was the only person he could really count on. No matter the situation or problem, Sherlock was always there beside him, ready to solve anything that came their way. 

Although John only met Sherlock after already having lived a large part of his life, he felt meeting him was a turning point. _Before Sherlock_ and _After Sherlock_ – that’s how John had unconsciously decided to divide time in his head, a long time ago. 

He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment where he fell in love with Sherlock, and for a long time, he didn’t know what to do about it. Unsure of what to do and how to proceed, the moments and chances kept getting away until finally there were none left, or so he thought at that time. Losing Sherlock was the lowest he’d ever been, and he questioned whether he would ever recover from that.

Even though almost one year had passed since he had moved back in, nothing between them had happened, but the missed moments and chances never stopped haunting him. 

With coats and scarfs off, he walked towards the sitting room. The house was too silent for a place where someone like Sherlock and a baby lived, and so John's eyes looked around for signs of life.

"Sherlock?"

"In the kitchen," said a low voice. 

He found Sherlock intensely concentrated on the microscope. Head down looking at the eyepiece lens, loose curls and the top buttons of his shirt open, sleeves rolled up. _He must be freezing, Jesus._ Passing through him on the way to the oven, John's hand rested on Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed, staying there only for a few seconds before he let go and went to fill the kettle with water.

The touches had been happening for a while now. With them living together once more, their walls, slowly but surely, started coming down again. Not just emotionally, but physically too. Sherlock helping with Rosie had something to do with it. Many times, John had been frustrated and tired and unsure of his parenting skills, and Sherlock helped him throughout the whole process, becoming Rosie’s second parent. That allowed them to get closer to each other, to get to the point they were before The Fall: the domesticity, the complicity. John was relieved he was, once again, well with Sherlock. They were themselves again after a long time of being careful and hesitant around each other.

Because of this, John found himself bold. In an away, the touches were a form of communicating something John couldn’t with words. _Sherlock, this is me trying to cross the line established a long time ago. I want to do this, I just don’t quite know how to start._

The first time happened when Sherlock was holding Rosie in his arms. John’s arm had easily placed itself around Sherlock’s back just for a few seconds, and he gave Rosie a little kiss on her cheek before backing away. It had felt so natural, and Sherlock didn’t seem to mind, so John kept it up. He learned he liked touching Sherlock every chance he got.

"Where's Rosie?"

"Downstairs. Mrs Hudson. She insisted on taking her for a few hours, I didn't argue,” Sherlock said without looking away from the lens.

“Hmm.”

Valentine’s day was coming up, and John couldn’t keep the idea of doing something with Sherlock out of his head. He didn’t know if Sherlock was even aware that the date was close. He probably didn’t even care. He definitely didn’t care. Standing there, John wondered if it would even be a good idea to suggest having a date. They never talked about them, but like so many other things we know exist and don’t talk about, they knew what the other one felt. It was a matter of waiting for the other to mention it, to wait for it to somehow come up in conversations. So they danced around each other, never really disclosing the truth, but never ignoring it either. It was like standing on a rope with a deep abyss beneath. For a long moment, they had found the balance there. 

He could downright say he would love to have a date with Sherlock on Valentine’s day and end this thing they’ve been doing for years now – not talking about their feelings - or he could make it a surprise. 

John liked the surprise idea. By surprise, he didn’t mean something big or flashy. It would be a quiet dinner at the flat, but Sherlock would only know by the time it was dinner time. He wanted to be something natural and intimate. He wouldn’t practise the words. When the time came, he would just say how he felt, and that would be enough. He hoped that would be enough.

With his fingers tapping gently on the kitchen counter, he prepared himself to speak. 

“You got anything planned for next Wednesday night?”

“Next Wednesday?” Sherlock’s head tilted up, his blue eyes casting a questioning look. 

“Yeah…” 

“Why?”

“Just asking… Have you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Great.”

John tried to keep his face blank, so his facial expressions wouldn’t let his thoughts readable.

“Why Wednesday?” Sherlock asked again with his deep timbre. 

“No reason,” John lied and turned his back to Sherlock, opening the cabinet and taking two mugs out, filling them up with hot liquid. When he turned to face him again, Sherlock was still looking at him, experiment forgot. He was clearly trying to figure out what John was up to, and John realized he’d been a fool thinking he could surprise Sherlock, of all people. 

Stepping up closer to Sherlock, John put one of the mugs beside him on the table.

"Drink your tea. I'm going to get Rosie, now. Make sure to tidy things up before I get back," John said with a smile on his face, leaving Sherlock before he could say anything else. 

**

Since Valentine’s day was still a weekday, John had to go to work. Luckily, he had the morning shift at the clinic. 

Rosie would stay the afternoon and night with Ms Hudson. John had asked her the day before and she warmly said yes when she realized Wednesday was Valentine’s day.

“I’m so glad you finally sorted things out… Long time coming, really, boys,” she had said as her hands came to rest on John’s arms, and then she hugged him tightly. 

Finally out of work, John headed straight to Baker Street. The streets were filled with rush hour chaos, and a beautiful twilight spread across the skies. 

To his own surprise, he was calm. Part of that, he knew, had to do with the fact that he decided not to do a big deal out of this. It was stupid to think they let so much time pass by them since there was literally nothing stopping them from being together. They just needed a little nudge, and neither of them had been willing of giving that same nudge, until now. John was ready. 

When he arrived, the house was empty and silent _._ Sherlock wasn’t home as he’d planned, and at that John’s heart started to beat a little bit faster. Had he found something to do? Had Lestrade phoned for a case? He checked his phone, no missed calls or texts. Not standing not knowing, he sent Sherlock a text.

**Where are you? I’m already at the flat. Ms Hudson is with Rosie. - JW**

**I’m at Bart’s. I’ll be home in an hour. – SH**

In the next hour, John got everything ready. He took a shower and chose to wear a button-down shirt he rarely used instead of the usual jumper. The shirt was greyish green, and it enhanced John’s eye colour, or at least he thought. 

He phoned Sherlock’s favourite takeaway place and ordered his favourite food - the type of food they only ate on special occasions - all planned to arrive at exactly 15 minutes before Sherlock. 

When was the time to set the table, he made sure to use their best plates and glasses, which meant the ones that hadn’t been destroyed or worn out by Sherlock’s experiments. A bottle of fine red wine was already there, but still, John felt like something was missing. 

Sure, he decided not to make a big thing out of this, and he had meant it. But if one really thought about it, it really was a big night for them both. He was staring at the modestly put table, when he remembered something, a detail from the very first day they met. Quickly, he ran through the kitchen drawers until he found what he wanted: candles. John smiled and lost a moment just looking at the candles inside the drawer, his memories taking him back to that very first day, making him think about how far away that day seemed now, but it still felt very vivid in his mind. 

He scattered a few around the living room, lighting them along the way, and one at the very centre of the table. When done, John took a step back and admired his work. Outside, the sun had set and so the candles were the only source of light in the flat.

Like clockwork, John heard someone at the door: the food. He was his way out the door when he saw Sherlock coming up the stairs, collar up, cheeks pink from the cold, and takeaway order in his hand.

“You ordered this, John?”

For a moment it all suddenly felt all too real to John, nervousness started to creep up on him, and he couldn’t believe he was really doing this. Any moment now, Sherlock would enter and notice all the candles, the neatly put table, the bottle of wine.

Without saying anything, John let Sherlock in, staying just a few seconds with his back to him. When he did turn, Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room with the take away hanging limply in his hands. 

“Sherlock?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. Oh god, I’m an idiot!” Sherlock’s hand came to rest on his forehead, and then through his curls, pushing them back. He looked back at John only for a second, who could see the worriedness in his face. 

“Yes, it is…Is this okay?” John asked with an apprehensive, sweet voice, and walked closer to Sherlock.

“Yes, very.” Sherlock glanced up, a shy smile forming on his lips.

Moving away, he put the bag on the table, quickly removed his jacket and finally sat at the table. John sat down on the other chair as well, him and Sherlock being across from each other.

The dinner was delicious, and the wine was rich and smooth. Conversation flowed easily between them. They talked about past cases and everyday things. This was easy. Having dinner with Sherlock was easy. They knew each other so well, for so many years now. It felt like they were two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly. 

The candles kept reminding John that this wasn’t an ordinary dinner. Those candles meant everything. He still had a lot to say, everything. But for now, he was enjoying this. Sherlock, happy and content, in front of him. Just the two of them, having dinner.

John kept refilling their glasses, and each time a glass had been drunk, their personal space seemed to get smaller and smaller, the air a little more difficult to breathe in, feelings even harder to ignore. 

“We shouldn’t have drunk so much wine.”

“I know,” Sherlock replied and picked up his glass, drinking what was left in it in a swing.

John let out a giggle and Sherlock joined him, their laughs echoing through the room.

For a second, John gazed the man before him. Sherlock’s cheeks were pink, the colour contrasting with his marble coloured skin, and his shirt’s top buttons undone. Sherlock’s whole posture told him he was relaxed, open. 

Sherlock went quiet, and he looked up and down John, slowly, taking him in. Their eyes locked, and the atmosphere of the room changed. John never saw more kindness and love and fear in those eyes than at that moment.

Between all the takeaway cartons, the plates and glasses, John’s hand found Sherlock’s. 

Sherlock closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. His skin was warm and soft,and John felt the sudden wanting to launch himself into the man and feel Sherlock all over him. He twisted his hand and let his fingers interlock with Sherlock’s. He had held hands with him only once in his life, and this was so much better than that first time. This time, he could feel the smoothness of Sherlock’s fingers, how his hand was so big compared to his own, and really savour the moment. 

John thought he would never feel love like this, this intensely, this unconditionally. All those years behind him, behind them, flashed through his eyes. He saw all the happiness and sadness, all the tears, cases, dinners and giggles, the accomplishments and disappointments, the pain and sorrow. He saw everything and anything, and at that moment he was never surer of one particular fact. Before he let it slip away, John said what he felt with the simplest words.

“I love you, Sherlock Holmes. I always have and at this point, I’m pretty sure I always will.”

He let all these feelings take over him, and he tightened the grip on Sherlock’s hands. 

“I know this is scary, but listening to me, Sherlock. I’m ready. As long as I’m with you, I’m ready. I want this, Sherlock. I want us.”

He never took his eyes of the man in front of him, and while he said those words, he saw the tears forming on Sherlock’s eyes, and how one of then escaped his eyelashes to stream down his cheek.

For a moment, John let silence fill the room as he cherished the moment. A weight was taken off his shoulders. He finally lost the balance on the rope and fell to the abyss, leaving all the missed chances and unspoken words behind him. 

“I feel the same, I want the same,” Sherlock said softly, his low timbre echoing in the room and replacing the silence.

“Oh god, Sherlock.” John let a heavy sight out of this body as he got up and walked around the table towards Sherlock, closing the distance in a few steps.

“Get up, please.” His voice was mellow, and he was smiling. Sherlock complied.

The two now stood in front of each other. As Sherlock took a deep breath, John’s left hand came to rest on his neck, his thumb caressing his jaw.

“God, Sherlock, you don't know for how long I've wanted this." 

With a smooth shift, they found each other lips. This kiss was all John had been thinking for years now, but even with a strong imagination, nothing could have prepared him for this. Sherlock’s lips were soft, so soft, and when his lips parted, John could taste the sweetness and smoothness of the wine. He deposited all his fears and hopes into that kiss. All the bad choices and actions throughout his life had brought him to this moment, and because of this he no longer regretted them. 

“I’m so glad we’re finally here.” John said breathlessly when they parted the kiss, and brought their foreheads together. Sherlock’s hands went around his waist, wrapping John in a tight embrace. 

“Me too.”

Standing on the living room of their house, John felt high. High on love, on intimacy. This was all he ever wanted. _Finally._


End file.
